Unnamed Story
by TheDrugelis
Summary: AU/HPSS/Mpreg. Harry doesn't understand, if he doesn't like girls, then he must like boys, right? And why does he always feel like a bother to everyone? Harry Potter, entering his 7th year, has his life turned by Severus Snape after an accidental event.
1. Chapter One

**Author's Note**: This story will be AU, it's pretty much the Wizarding world we all know and love, just sans... plot. There's no Voldemort or the likes; Harry James Potter is just a normal wizard, dealing with being an orphan after his parent's death. (The story really won't drabble about that, but I'm just saying for clarification.) Let's just say they were killed by a random dark wizard who is dead himself. There, vanished problematic situations. Now that that's out of the way: let us begin!

**Warnings**: eventual slash, Snape/Harry, and mpreg... a bit of Ginny bashing. Sirius/Remus, Ron/Hermione. Uncaring friends. And a very blunt godfather. I'm going to go ahead and rate this as **M **because eventually it will be, and because I feel like it.

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><p>With a large sigh, Harry pushed himself back in his chair. It was mid-August and the trio had already made their trips to Diagon Alley, purchasing their final set of books for the upcomming term. This year Harry would be taking Potions XII, even though the class made him want to grind iron against his teeth. The only perk of the whole situation was that Snape no longer taught the class-taken over by Professor Slughorn last year-and he still had the Half Blood Prince's potion book tucked away in his trunk. He had the option to drop Potions this year, but decided an easy Outstanding and a professor that actually <em>liked<em> him was worth the trouble.

He thumbed through his used potions book from the second-hand shop, reading the names of recipies as the pages rapidly skimmed by. He shut it with a satisfying _thump_ and rose to his feet: any moment now, Ron and Hermione would be returning from their second trip to Diagon Alley this week. After several days of Hermione repeatidly saying, "I feel like I've forgotten something...," she finally remembered that she signed up for 8 classes this term, not 7, and promptly returned to the Alley to purchase her books. Ron had tagged along, "out of boredum" he claimed, although Harry knew that the red-head would give anything to be alone with Hermione.

Lately, Harry felt like he was a third wheel to his friends. Often he found himself alone after they both excused themselves from their conversations in the sitting room or kitchen, only to find them five minutes later in the garden together. It didn't bother him, knowing they deserved their private time together, but it did make him feel lonely. Last month, as his seventeenth birthday rolled closer, Harry wondered a lot, alone in his bedroom at Privet Drive, that if it was normal not to have a girlfriend for himself-or interest in a girlfriend lately-at seventeen? There was Cho in fifth year, but she was wrapped around Cedric's waist so much that Harry lost interest quickly. And Ron's sister Ginny had started flirting with him at the end of last year, and occassionally at the Burrow the past few weeks, but something was off about her. It felt like every other week she was locked by the lips with a new boy; the image made Harry gag. No whores for me, thanks, he thought to himself.

No, Harry wasn't one for females and their ways. And during those weeks, cooped up in his tiny bedroom in Surrey, he wondered if not women, then did he prefer males instead? The thought had never crossed his mind until a week before his birthday, and now it was constantly nagging at him. He never felt attracted to a male, but maybe he just wasn't thinking about it at the time? Usually he was so caught up in Quidditch, piles of homework, and Hogsmead that he lost track of time for personal thoughts. Now he found himself trying to go back into the shower room after a Quidditch game or practice in his mind, searching for any mixed feelings he felt amongst his teammates. There was nothing, just a careless buzz of adreneline after playing, and returning to his friends straight after. Was he really not that normal?

The fire erupted a emerald green as Ron, with a laughing Hermione wrapped around his left arm, stepped out of the Floo. They almost walked straight past Harry, who was standing in the middle of the sitting room, before he greeted them quietly. Quickly they drew back into the room.

"Harry, you should have come along; Malfoy was in the Alley, whining to his father, before a stray bit of magic nearly cleared his head off," Hermione smiled widely again, obviously replaying the image in her mind. "Although the boy, who I suspected just received his wand, would have lost his own head if he managed to do so." She dropped herself on the couch, Ron following suit. "Harry, what's the matter?"

Harry's lips hadn't even twitched at the story, not even a fraction of a smile. He wasn't really listening, still slightly trapped in his own thoughts. He shook his head, bringing himself back to focus on his friends.

"Nothing, just got somethings on my mind."

Hermione didn't press any further; if there was one thing that Harry was grateful for, it was that she had caught on that prying on his thoughts bothered him. If he wanted to share, he would tell them, and she knew that now. Ron raised his eye brows, oddly being silent for this short conversation, caring and concern never really were his strong point.

The room filled with a heavy tension, the clock ticking away in a soft rhythm. They were all quiet: Hermione looking down at her clasped hands, Ron fiddling with his robes button, and Harry relapsing back into his thoughts. Slowly, Ron rose from his seat, and scratched the back of his head.

" 'm gonna go see if mum needs any help...," he mumbled, and scuffed his way out of the room. The tension was too heavy for him to stand, and de-gnoming the garden sounded far better even than staying with them.

As Ron's presence left, Harry returned to his seat and leaned on his knees by the elbows. With his head hung, he rubbed a hand over his face. The pestering thoughts from before kept washing over his mind, again feeling like he was _interupting_ Ron and Hermione. Perhaps he had overstayed his welcome at the Burrow for now. He looked up, to find his friend's eyes looking directly into his own. He opened his mouth several times, testing the phrase in his mind before his voice gathered,

"I think I'll be staying with Sirius for the rest of the holiday."

Hermione still didn't say anything but rose to her feet. Ignoring her, Harry stood too, walking over to the Floo and getting on one knee. Harry took a handful of Floo powder and tossed it into the fireplace, waiting as the dead ashes burst into a green flame once more. "Grimwald Place," he spoke to the flames. A light image of the sitting room in his godfather's home danced amongst the flames, and finally the familiar face of said godfather came into view.

"Harry! How are you doing?" Sirius smiled up at him through the flames.

"I'm fine, but I was wondering, may I stay with you... until school starts that is?" Harry added the final part as an after thought; Sirius offered on many occassion for Harry to stay with him, but ...

"Of course you can, Harry," Remus Lupin slowly appeared in the flame, next to Sirius. Harry almost took back his request, but nodded instead. It wasn't like he didn't love Remus, in fact he considered the man as another godfather, however the thought of ruining their peaceful life was unsettling to Harry. They may think the idea is wonderful now, but how long before they realize he was a burden? He would only be there a couple of weeks, not long enough to disrupt their home together much, so Harry could deal with it for now.

"Thank you, " Harry offered a smile, pulling his shoulders back. "Is this evening alright?"

"Nonsense, Harry, come now. We're about to have a late lunch, might as well join us. This home is awfully empty without young company," the twinkle in Sirius's eye hinted at him staying there permenantly, but Harry again refused in his mind.

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><p>Remus and Sirius were a family before Harry had even known he had a godfather. Soon after his parents passed away when he was a baby, he was wisked away from the wizarding world for his "safety". He was taken in by his aunt and uncle, who were very unkind to the idea of magick or the likes. They were even less thrilled about having Harry thrown into their arms after hearing about Lily and James's deaths. However when Sirius, (at the time claimed to be the very murderer of Harry's parents), found Harry finally and the truth of the true murderer was revealed, he rejoiced at the chance to live with his godfather. Soon after his fourth year though, Remus had decided to finally move in, and Harry felt uncomfortable with the idea of living with them.<p>

And in his thoughts, Harry had a small epiphany: maybe staying with them would help him with his troublesome thoughts; maybe he could have a breakthrough. So, pushing to his feet, Harry announced he would be there after he packed, and the green flame died shortly after. He discovered that Hermione had already left the room, and Harry sighed once more.

Taking another bite out of his sandwich, Harry listened intently to Sirius telling an old story of the four boys in their youth. Remus was smiling behind his glass, enjoying the way the memory played behind his eyes as his lover threw his hands left and right for emphasis. Harry grinned, trying hard to imagine his father levitating Snape to the high ceilings of a classroom and leaving him there with a sticky charm, as his friends watched in fits of laughter. The muscles in his cheeks ached from laughing, had it really been that long since he was this happy? The room settled down, nothing left but the three of them coming down from their cheer in deep breaths and happy sighs.

Sirius hummed a little, eating his own sandwich and eyeing Remus. They both knew that something was wrong, and feeling as god-parents (Remus in association by Sirius so proclaimed _by_ Sirius) that it was in their duty to help the young wizard. Feeling the eyes on him, Remus looked back, nodding a little. He watched Harry for a moment, taking note of the way his face was concentrated in such a way that resembled James.

"Harry," he started, waiting for the boy to look up. When he did, he continued, "is there something on your mind?"

The last traces of a smile dropped from Harry's face, "not really... well, yes. But I cannot figure out why..." Harry's face wrinkled in confusion and he looked down into his tea. "I... I wanted to ask: how did you know that you liked men?"

Sirius coughed, choaking on air. He looked up at Remus, but saw that his old friend didn't share the same reaction. The older, previous professor only had a small smile on his face, almost as if he was remembering.

"I don't like men," he paused, passing a smile to the head of the table, "I like Sirius."

"Right." Harry was frustrated with the reply, but continued on, "but how did you know you liked Sirius? Wasn't the fact that he was a bloke bother you?"

Remus mulled over his reply and quirked a smile, "I rather find, Harry, that love was all I needed to overcome whatever Sirius was or may become."

The answer really didn't help Harry at all. He just wanted to know when Remus realized that he got off on a man touching him. Or at least the idea of it...

"I think what Harry wants to know is ... when did you realize you liked cock better than tits?" Sirius smirked, his head rolling back slightly in amusement... He was happy to see the reaction on Lupin's face. "I realized it when I was fifteen, you had taken off your shirt and suddenly I'm hard as a rock."

Harry's face was now a light pink, his face feeling hot. Okay, not the blunted response he was expecting, but... it was something. And as quickly as it left, the silence in the room returned again, each of them taking in the conversation and thinking it over. Their thoughts however were interupted as a loud knock sounded through the house. From down the hall, Harry could hear Kreacher talking to a deep toned man. Together they appeared, Kreacher leading none other than Severus Snape towards their dining room.

All thoughts left his mind as the potions master entered, his presence overbearing and demanding attention from everyone in the room. His hair was still long and jet black, framing his face with sharp edges, with eyes black as night and burning into Harry's skull. Quickly Harry looked away, feeling the heat in his cheeks return suddenly. Having his professor stare at him was nerve wrecking! Remus cleared the tension by clearing his throat.

"Hello, Snape."

The man sneered, gritting back a hello. Harry allowed himself to glance back once more at Snape, realizing he hadn't seen him in a few months. It was almost a happy moment, knowing someone from his only true home was here. He let that thought pass though, Snape was still a cruel man. And an even crueler teacher.

As of last year, after yet another Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher had quit, Snape was finally permitted to take the post he desperately seeked. Harry mused idly, he may act like he hates children, but I think he secretly enjoys filling their minds with knowledge. Maybe he wasn't as bad as everyone thought, otherwise why would Dumbledor keep him around?

Snape shifted, his hand reaching within his dark robes before returning with two viles of a mysterious shimmering liquid. He handed them both to Remus, snatching away his hand in disgust as the man took them.

"That should be enough until Christmas, assuming you didn't lose the previous batch I made you," Severus's eyes were cold towards Remus and his voice was sharp and insulting. His eyes flicked back to Harry, and he swore he saw Snape's eyes soften. "Mr. Potter, what a ... surprise." He looked over at the silent Sirius and again at Remus, then back to Harry. "I expect you will be taking my class this term, boy?" With expectant eyes, he never lost eye contact; Harry felt like he was over anticipating his reply.

Harry was at a loss of words, looking up into his eyes. It took him a moment to gather his thoughts and reply. His lips were dry, so he licked them to relieve their chapped feeling. Finally, he managed to speak.

"Actually, no sir. I've taken Potions instead," Harry cleared his throat. He didn't need DADA this year, either and decided that it was better not to overload himself. The smirk that passed Severus's face was a damn fright. Was Snape insulted that he dropped it this year? "Professor?" Harry questioned the look that Snape was giving him.

"Much to your dismay, as I shall assume, Mr. Potter, that I have resigned my post as Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher and resumed my Potions position instead." Severus allowed the words to seep through the air, hitting Harry with the equivilant of a stunning spell.

Harry was speechless, but the first question that popped into his mind was "where was Slughorn?", followed by the ominous feeling of doom to failure-because surely Snape would be more likely to notice that he had out a spare book, scribbled on and assisting him-and finally the strangest emotion of ... joy? Was he experiencing joy at the idea of Snape being his professor again this year? Before he could collect himself, Snape had already moved.

"Well, then... good day, gentlemen," and Severus left, the front door closing with a click of the lock.

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><p><em>Alright then, so. There's the first chapter of it story that has been in my head for about 3 days now... please tell me what you think and thank you!<em>


	2. Chapter Two

**Author's Notes**: Just a couple of things, I realize I didn't spell Grimmauld correctly. Five points from Slytherin for not opening book 5 to check. And seven in roman numerals is VII, not XII. Another 10 points from Slytherin for not paying attention in Mathematics.

However! This chapter I come baring something M worthy!

Again, please feel free to review and point out somethings. Right now, this is kind of a rough sketch of the story. A write up of the plot and such (and seeing if I can actually _finish_ it.) Also, all mistakes are mine.

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><p>Alone in the private compartment of Hogwarts Express, Harry rested his forehead against the clear glass of his window. The lush green trees were a mushy blob as the train raced by, but Harry wasn't looking at them. He was staring; staring out into the orange and pink hue of the setting sun, completely lost in his own thoughts.<p>

Last week had taken him by surprise: after spending an almost awkward week with his godfather (who insistently played _twenty questions_ with him about Harry's "curiosity", as Sirius had put it) and Remus almost avoiding all contact with his lover in a desperate fear that at any moment, Sirius may pounce upon him in the sitting room. Apparently, being walked in on by your sexually confused godson is a _turn off_, which Sirius taunted Remus with relentlessly. All these jumbled feelings and that to top it off, Harry was relieved to finally sad his good-byes on the platform of nine and three quarters, after both of them insisting they see their godson off on his last year at Hogwarts. However, it was in the moment that Sirius had pulled Harry aside and remarked that he wanted to hear all about his adventures when he returned for the holidays (followed by a suggestive wink) and suddenly the holidays weren't far away enough.

So with a final wave, Harry had boarded the train and attempted to find Ron or Hermione, _of course, where there's one, there's the other,_ Harry thought bitterly to himself. Walking past several compartments of Hufflepuffs and Slytherins, Harry found Hermione standing in the door way of first years, wide eyed and frightened. He came closer and his best friend's voice was in ear shot.

"...don't listen to what any of those Slytherins have to say," Ron sounded defiant, a way that Harry found common in his voice when talking about the rivaling House. "Besides, Malfoy's a git, even if he wasn't Slytherin. Sorting doesn't hurt, and there's no tests to worry about." Harry watched Hermione's smile curl with fondness, no doubt her female hormones twisting into thoughts of _breeding_. The sniffling of a young blond haired first year subsided and Ron emerged from the compartment.

"Harry, there you are, mate. We've been looking for you," Ron smiled when he spotted Harry, who up until now was seemingly invisible. Hermione turned around in surprise to see him standing there, but smiled as well. Briefly they hugged, as they always did after reuniting, but Harry didn't put as much force into it.

"Right," he idly fiddled with his robes, "shall we find a compartment?" He waited for their reply, as Hermione's smiled dropped and she looked over at Ron for support.

"Oh, Harry," her usual sympathetic voice, it made Harry's stomach turn. "I thought you knew, Ron and I are prefects this year... we have to sit with the others, for meetings and such." And after waiting for the words to sink in, she finished with: "I'm really sorry, Harry."  
>Harry shook his head, giving the best smile he could, which the effort was in vain since his lips didn't twitch beyond the edges.<p>

"No, I understand. I'll see you at the school, yeah?" And he pushed past them, ignoring Hermione's "Harry..." as he passed on to the next boxcar.

And that's why he ended up here: alone, quiet, and over halfway to Hogwarts, with his thoughts being able to bother him without distraction. He thought about Quidditch this year, how he was captain and remembered his new broom, _Lightningbolt_. Sirius had insisted this present for Harry's coming of age gift, even though the younger man debated that there was nothing wrong with his _Firebolt_. All in all though, Harry was secretly longing to be on the pitch again, stomping Draco Malfoy down in shock at his speed. Then his mind wandered off to Madam Hooch, who last year hinted lightly that she may or may not become an official World Cup referee this year. If she was leaving, then that would mean a new Flying instructor, and of course, a new Quidditch referee for Hogwarts. Harry just hoped they picked someone who was as unbiased to Houses as she. Then he remembered the few matches over the years that Snape refereed, which where completely unfair and unbalanced, but it didn't matter seeing as Gryffindor usually pulled through on those games out of sheer determination.

Harry snorted, _Snape_. It wasn't the first time his thoughts had managed to bring the master of potions to his mind. Confused as he was, he didn't need this added into the equation. First off, he was old. As in, old enough to be your father, old. Or "almost could have had your mother, could have almost been your father" way. The thought threw Harry's body into a quick shudder. But then the deep voice came back, and the way it trembled through his ears, the vibrations, (when he was close enough) causing his chest to rumble, made Harry's cheeks flare in pink. In the beginning, Harry tried to shoo away the thoughts, it was his _teacher_ dammit. As in, off limits and don't touch. Increasingly over the week though, Harry let his mind relish in the borderline fantasies and faint memories of Snape talking directly at him, criticizing for his lousy potion brewing.

And there again, like cold water, came the dread of knowing Snape was teaching Potions after getting the DADA job he always wanted. Why couldn't Snape just keep his bloody job? It was infuriating, after having found in the back of Half Blood Prince's book more notes for Potions this year as well. He compared his new book with the notes and confirmed that the book hadn't changed in... however long that HalfBlood Prince was a student ago. Now he wouldn't even be able to bring it out in class without Snape confiscating it at first site. The rage from the thoughts seethed into a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach, his mind replaying that sneer across the professor's face, and imagining it berating him for the book. "_I see you have found yet another way to fail my class, Mr. Potter. Cheating is not tolerated_." His mind could only imagine the amounts of points he would take away and the days of detention he would give. That all being generous, if the man didn't report him to Professor McGonagall.

Detention with Snape, being trapped all evening with an unforgiving teacher, made to do many things-Harry nipped the thoughts in the bud. Getting worked up here would do him no good, he could see the glow of Hogwarts now, over the expanse of trees. Especially when he knew Snape would be at the Professor's table and Harry hoped to the gods that he was able to distract himself from the man dominating his latest thoughts and dreams. Dreams that were unlike his usual dreams, ones that caused much embarrassment when Harry awoke and found his undergarments soaked and soiled. He attempted to shake the thoughts, without much help. In all honesty, Harry couldn't figure out if going to his godfather's was a good or bad thing for him.

His stay at Grimmauld Place had clarified some things, even if it was out of an embarrassing moment, now that Harry looks back on it.. There was a reason that Remus was determined not to let Sirius come too near while Harry was there, although the determination was futile with someone like Sirius Black as your lover. The night of Harry's second day at the Black home, he could hear-through the walls and down the hall from Sirius's bedroom to Harry's guest bedroom-noises that came in waves, some soft, others loud. Mostly it was just jumbled words and grunts, but Harry didn't think he could ever hear "Padfoot" come from Remus's mouth ever again without his face catching fire. However, that night, something stirred in Harry. His body twitched, in reaction to his surroundings. It was surprising as Harry normally ignored his confused arousal and forced himself to sleep. However, tonight was different. He allowed himself the listen, the sound of a bed being pushed beyond its limits, as his godparents made love in ways that Harry had only seen in muggle adult movies and years ago in his adolescent fantasies with Cho.

He swallowed and licked his lips, attempting to moisten their sudden sandpaper texture. After curiosity took over, he allowed his hand to wander. He took it slow, nervous with the thought of actually doing this, and paused on the top button of his shirt. With an unsure hand, he popped it open, and all at once tugged fiercely to rip the rest of the buttons free. His chest was heaving, inhaling air faster than he exhaled it. It was hot, god, when did the room get so hot? Fuck, he closed his eyes, Remus was_ begging _now. He wanted that... to feel someone pleasing him, making him feel wanted at all. Clenching his eyes shut once more, he passed his chest and stomach with his right hand, skimming just over the black curls of body hair. His breath hitched as he cupped his bulging erection; Merlin, had it really been so long his body had forgotten his own touch? It took most of his willpower to keep his hand firm, the freight of the touch wanting him to reel back. Instead, he pressed down further and let out a soft moan in relief. He mimicked the pressure, his arm flexing as his wrist rolled his hand in a rhythmic pattern. He pushed his hand down with pressure, sliding to the base of his cock, then with a taunting motion slid it back up with a feather like motion.

He thought of someone else doing this to him, a shadow figure, honestly it didn't matter who. As long as they kept kissing him like he was, rolling his tongue across Harry's, absorbing his soft moans. The hand quickened and the man was hovering Harry, whispering in a deep voice of command. The voice growled orders to Harry to come, come only for him. That no one would ever be allowed to see him like this, except the shadow. Harry wanted to, oh, he groaned, the shadow disappeared along with his hand, but soon Harry found himself swallowed whole in a tight mouth, tongue muscles stroking the underside of his cock. Just as his mind flitted away, unable to coherent any more thoughts, he heard the voice again whisper, this time it was, "Mr. Potter."  
>His toes curled in response, tensing up his lower body as the intensity grew. The hand moved faster of its own accord as Harry let his head and eyes roll back, he didn't think he could stop it if it tried. His hips arched of the bed, foot twitching as he twisted into the touch and gripped the sheets below him.<p>

"Fuck Snape, oh yes, f-fuckSnapefuckohohfuckfuckoh!-_yes_," he hissed, his back bowing as far as it could, head turned towards his pillow as he bit the cotton case. Spurts of hot liquid rapidly launched from his cock, and spilt over his deaccelerating hand, some managing to hit his lower abdomen. His chest rose and fell, letting his hand fall limp to his side and as the rest of his body laid as dead weight. Face still burrowed in a soggy pillowcase, Harry let out a long breath of relief and recalled the fantasy in his dream. Had he really thought of Snape?

Somewhere in the middle of his come-down, Harry had fallen asleep.

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><p><em>Yep.<em>


	3. Chapter Three

**A/N:** This one is a little shorter than the previous two. Mostly I'm gritting my teeth through sheer writer's block to even get this out. It's sad, how the plot and desire to write just ups and leaves my body.

This update is to show that I am still around, and trying to push through this weirdness. I don't usually _do_ chapter fics, and love one-shots, but... this one definitely doesn't deserve to be a one-shot, as there's too much going on!

Okay, without further-ado, here is the next chapter.

**A/A/N: **It'd be really nice to get a couple of reviews to see who's actually out there enjoying this, or whether I should just give up. Yep.

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><p>As the train rolled up to Hogwarts and came to a halt, Harry was startled from his thoughts. Quickly he gathered his robes in front of him and pushed his way through the crowded hallways of the boxcar. He stepped off the train and turned his head up to take in the seemingly glowing castle. His lips twitched into a small smile. Harry didn't even bother looking for Ron or Hermione, and instead Harry climbed onto the first carriage in line. Soon a few Hufflepuffs hopped on, complaining about how hungry they were, and slowly it began to pull towards the castle.<p>

Ignoring their chitchat, Harry nervously worried over if he could control his... _attention_ at dinner. He hadn't seen Snape since that day last week and now he was finding he was dreading seeing him once more. Although this week had been insightful, it was also a little off-setting that he was now just developing these feelings. It was just last year that he hated the man-the feelings mutual-and now Snape was almost all he could think about. It was tiresome needless to say. Maybe that hatred was secretly desire, he mused to himself. Biting back at his subconscious mind, he pushed those thoughts to the back of his head.

The cart came to a stop, and slowly Harry climbed down and slowly stepped towards the Entrance Hall. A few second years rushed past, but he ignored them. One had even managed to clip his shoulder, offering his mumbled apologies and quickly hurrying away. He passed through the open doors, arriving first at the Gryffindor table, and taking a seat somewhere along the middle. He glanced up at the professor's table, relieved to only find Dumbledore talking merrily to Trelawey who (not surprisingly) was eating a slice of pie. More students began filing in, and more teachers arrived from the back door, and soon the Great Hall was obnoxiously loud with the usual chatter. Stray groups of Slytherin slowly trickled in and Filch followed after, giving a nod to the Headmaster before returning to a corner to himself.

The hall was roudy for several minutes, before the swining open of the entrance doors once more caught everyone's attention. McGonagall led the first years in, all nervous and in awe of the ceiling. The sorting began and ended, the same way it did every year, and Dumbledore rose to give his speech. At this, Harry perked up: he hadn't seen any sight of Slughorn-or Snape for that matter (which he was not disappointed about, he argued)-but no other new teachers either... Looking over the teachers, his eye caught Hagrid's and they shared a nod, before turning his attention to Dumbledore again.

"Welcome, students: new and returning, for another year at Hogwarts," Dumbledore smiled at them all, his eyes shining even from far away. He numbered off the usual rules, reminding them of curfew and the Forbidden Forest being well... _forbidden_. Finally he addressed the professors, and timed perfectly, Snape appeared through the professor's entrance and took his seat. "This year," he caught the attention of those looking at Snape, "Potions will be ressumed by Professor Snape"-several groans harmoneously filled the room-"and, I am pleased to welcome Professor Shacklebot who will be your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," he turned to the staff table, although he knew the Ministry man wasn't there, and chuckled. "If he were here, that is. It appears Professor Shacklebot was called last minute on a few things, however, I assure you he will be here tomorrow."

Dumbledore finished out his speech, and before the food had even appeared on the plates, the room exploded into chatter once more. Albor Duncan, a short and bulky fifth year took a large chicken leg from the table and looked over at his friend, "mum says the Ministry's trying to interfere with Hogwarts again." Taking a bite, he shrugged and continued, "she's friends with one of the Minister's secretaries and she says that Dumbledore is being watched closely."

Harry rose an eyebrow, amused by the gossip. If the Ministry sent Kingsley to watch over Dumbledore, then they weren't going to get anything-being part of the Order. Kingsley probably put himself up for the job, Harry concluded, and put it out of his mind. It didn't matter, either way. He still had Snape to deal with and needed to find a way to get away from the situation. Dropping Potions was out of the question; he could just hear Professor McGonagall exclaiming the need for it and making him feel guilty, or worse: like a coward, for Snape being the reason he backed out. So, straightening his posture and a confident nod to himself, Harry looked straight at the dark Professor... only to find him staring back, hard.

Unwillingly placed in a sudden staring contest, Harry refused to look away-that would just make him seem weak! And also, he needed all the distraction he could before the inevitable blush over took his cheeks. It was the placement of a warm hand that pulled him away from the trance of Snape's eyes, and both at once they broke off into opposite directions. It took a moment for Harry to bring himself back, and look up at Ron, with a gleaming "Prefect" badge on his (admittedly) faded and dingy robes.

"What're you starin' at Snape for?" He took a seat on the bench next to Harry, "I bet he's already thinking of loads of ways to make our last year miserable." Harry wasn't really taking in what was being said, only nodded. With a small flicker, he cast his eyes back on Snape, hoping maybe he was still looking, but he was talking to another professor. More than slightly disappointed, Harry turned his attention to Ron.

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><p>His first class of the year was Ancient Runes, followed by Charms, a quick lunch, and finally Potions in the dungeons. Climbing down the stairwells and arriving in the last hall that led to said classroom, Harry was overtaken by a rush of fire. His blood felt hot, his heart pounding in his chest in anticipation, and trembling slightly. He had to stop and take a moment to collect himself before he continued behind some Slytherins. His face felt warm under his skin, even though the dungeons were always chilled, causing him to shiver and goosebumps to rise at the conflicting temperatures.<p>

Harry had been flustered before by the thought of Snape, but never like this... Knowing that the man was just down the hall was like electricity, and he quickened his pace to and through the heavy wooden doors. He let out a sigh of relief when the professor wasn't there yet (was that _disappointment _he felt again?), and settled in a seat next to Dean Thomas... which was in the front row. Harry mentally kicked himself, and was about to move, before the wooden doors opened and closed with a bang. Snape crossed the room hastily in his signature fashion, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked once as Draco, and then at Harry and Merlin, Harry could feel his cock twitch. On the board, the chalk began to write page numbers, and all he said was "begin."

After five years of Potions taught by Snape, everyone pretty much knew the game. The sounds of books being opened, pages turned, scrapping stools on the stone floors, and shuffles from the supply closet surrounded Harry, and he didn't move a muscle. Dean nudged him twice before Harry responded; unknowingly he scowled at his housemate. The boy rose both eyebrows and Harry mumbled an apology before taking his book with him to the supply closet.

The pairs worked amongst themselves, with the aroma of ingredients being cooked and blended clouding the air; Professor Snape walked around the room to observe. He stopped at Harry and Dean's table.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Thomas, I do expect you to finish your assignment before the end of class."

Harry rose his head a little, but didn't make eye contact. At that moment he wished he could have just leaped into his boiling potion and be gone forever. He could feel the heat of Snape's glare on his face, but was relieved when Dean spoke up.

"We're waiting on the potion to turn red, sir," he sounded small, like a mouse. The boy shifted uncomfortably, again nudging Harry to help him out. Reluctantly, he lifted his gaze to Snape's face. He quickly inhaled and bit his tongue between his teeth. The man had an eyebrow quirked, and a suspicious look across his face.

"Do tell me, Mr. Thomas, where in the instructions it indicates waiting until the brew turns red," it was not a question as much as a demanding accusation.

Harry's eyes widened a fraction, and subconsciously he pressed the book under his arms closer to himself. It wouldn't do for Snape to find out about the Half-Blood Prince's book.

"I-I..." Dean rapidly turned the double sided page of the guided potion, hoping that somewhere amongst the directions it would appear. Mouth agape, he stood there frozen without an answer.

"Must've been on the wrong page, sir."

Snape snapped his head towards Harry and closed his eyes to darkened slits. Taken aback, Harry regathered his thoughts and nodded towards the board.

"I thought the board said page _452_, not _425_," he put on his best Gryffindor smile, placing as much innocent stupidity he could muster, and tried not to whither under Snape's deadly sights. The potions master never faltered however, and Harry quickly dropped the cheeky grin. Those black eye bore into him and Harry suddenly felt exposed; he wanted to _die_. Above them, the bell rang, echoing loudly in the classroom that had gone silent. It felt like ages before Snape finally broke away.

"Mr. Potter, stay after class," and sauntered off to his desk.

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><p><em>Dun, dun... dunnnn!<em>

Reviews would be appreciated!


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